Beauty
by Pluto
Summary: Aoshi laments the curse of his own beauty, while seducing Kenshin. YAOI/lemon


Beauty   
**..:: Beauty.05.31.00 ::..  
**

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.a rurouni kenshin fanfic. battousai x aoshi .special thanks to tammy lee   
& jo & janette for reading the early versions of this ficcie, and susan for   
the discussion that lead to the opening scene, and to tina for suggesting  
some of the terms I've used. for a glossary of japanese terms for   
objects used please see the very bottom of this fic .all characters are   
copyright watsuki nobuhiro, sony, jump comics. this is a fanwork & not   
for profit.   
// signifies italics  
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Beauty   
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"..As beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night.. all shall love me and despair." -- Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien  
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Shinomori Aoshi was beautiful. 

He had known it since childhood, when the older men paid him special attention, and not the kind already lavished on him because of his extraordinary talent. And when he studied his face reflected in the water, or in a woman's polished mirror-- he saw the masterful craftsmanship in his features. 

He hated it. 

He'd hated the kind of attention it brought him. It undermined the praise of his skills early on, raped that encouragement into nothingness. It made him despise his elders and his teachers for the way they devoured the sight of his soft-skinned beauty, for the covetousness in their eyes. Those outranking him paid no attention to the fact he learned his katas effortlessly, or that at his tender age he was already more skilled than many men outranking him. They only wanted Aoshi to come sit by them, to be in their company. 

Early on he'd learned the sort of power it could bring him as well. He preferred not to use it, as it only reinforced the knowledge that people would view him as only this pretty thing. But at times, it was the only way for him to receive what he'd wanted, what he needed... 

The man behind him made a groan, and he felt fingers dig painfully into his hips as he was invaded with deeper force. He could feel sweaty skin sticking against his back, and the hairs on the arm wrapped around him. Bent over on the floor, his knees spared by a finely-embroidered cushion, he nevertheless felt disdain for the man behind him. His hand tightened within the crumpled mass of his kimono, apparently shed haphazardly on the floor, and felt the comforting hilt of the short blade within. As the sweating mass of muscle behind him grunted with increasing urgency, he quickly drew the kodachi up to himself, concealed in the heavy fabric and the curl of his wrist against his chest. 

//I am lost...// 

He bit his lips against the pain, and pressed the silk-wrapped steel against his stomach. 

//I am cursed...// 

//I am beautiful...// 

His hand thrust the short sword upwards, shearing through the soft silk, through the soft organs of his body. The longish curve was timed perfectly to catch the man behind as he pressed himself forward in ecstasy. The blade cut cleanly through both of them: A strangled cry of pleasure dissolved into startled agony, and Aoshi felt himself smile as the first trickle of blood left his lips and a heated wetness filled his body and washed over it. 

//I wonder if I am still beau...// 

Aoshi startled awake, sweating, as was usual these days. Nightmare-memories had plagued him since the death of his men. He quickly disciplined his breathing, until it was quieted and regular, but still... He could feel the old pain of the blade buried in his flesh, and the old humiliations he had quietly endured as has been befitting a boy of his position. 

It was strange, he thought, that he would dream of that long ago past... His hand sought out the scarred skin at his stomach, one reminder of his foolishness as a youth. He'd been lucky, they said, that his "lover" had stumbled away, still possessed enough to seek help. He'd often wished he had simply died there on the floor. The whole affair had been properly hushed up, in deference to the high status of himself and the even higher status of his patron. 

He had killed two men since that first time, who had tried to use his beauty for their own pleasure. 

He pulled his yukata together at his chest, slowly sitting up and balancing his weight across his knees. The glimpse of his own white thighs, of the milk-smooth skin there, brought an irrational surge of irritation to him. He moved with a fluid motion to his feet and straightened his clothing before stepping out for a breath of fresher air. The crickets and cicadas sang in the distance, blackness enveloping him in its comfortable embrace. He was at home here, in the darkness, where it was impossible to see any beauty but the flickering of his blades. 

He sought the familiar weight of his beloved kodachi, caught against his skin within the tightly wrapped obi. His solace, his comfort. In that elegance and art he let himself believe, unlike the passing physical beauty. But still they insisted-- still in their eyes he saw it... Still... 

What was he, some doll for them to admire, to desire, to own? 

The Elders, the Emperor, the Okashira before him; Saitoh, Shishio, even the Battousai... Laughing at him with his sword. He was no threat, he had no power. 

//I am Shinomori Aoshi, Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu, the strongest--// 

//...As yet... that still lacks proof// 

He forced the anger down. 

//Win or Lose, there will be no grudge...// 

He had as many memories scarring his mind as he did knots of tight white skin across his body. 

The lightening of the sky reminded him of his purpose, and he set about silently, changing his clothing and rearranging a small room to receive the Battousai. Things were different now, yes. It was an age he could no longer prove himself on the body of the men who disrespected him and escape the severity of the law. As he set a beautifully lacquered bowl before the spot where the Battousai would sit, he felt a quirk pull his lips downward, at the fact that they were reduced to such a meeting. He had deserved an honorable death at the hands of the Battousai... Instead... this... he was entertaining Himura like some highly educated geisha... 

//In this new era...// 

In this new era, in this Meiji era... He forced the anger down again, forced down the hate that he bore for this new era and the man who represented it. In this new era a man like he was-- a man whose life was finely honed to serve another man-- was belittled and challenged by a low-born wanderer like the Battousai. 

He set the _chasen_ down with a sharp noise, his calm breathing interrupted with an irritable snort. 

"Did the chasen offend you, Aoshi?" 

His head came up and he swallowed his anger, straightening to his feet and smoothing out the fine kimono. "You're early." 

Red hair unlike any other Japanese man's, cross-scar on the cheek, wide blue eyes. The Battousai. He bowed slightly, welcoming him into the room. "I apologize for this informality..." 

Himura Battousai entered the room with a dismissive wave. Aoshi felt those rounded eyes upon him as Himura knelt, setting his sakabatoh beside him. "There's no need to go to all this trouble, Aoshi... Really..." 

"I'd promised... we would meet again... over tea." 

Diminutive voice, practiced and betraying no real emotion. He sank to his knees with that grace he could never shake, the slithering fabric of his clothing neatly folding with him. He was as much a part of the beauty of this simple tea as was every cup and container, and he was acutely aware of Himura observing him. As surely as if he had been caressed by unwelcomed hands, he felt disgust crawl over him as Himura drank in the skin exposed by the fall of his kimono. He kept it back only because of the stiff reassurance digging into his ribs as he bent to retrieve something. He forced himself to make every movement as precise as a fold in an origami crane as he inspected a fine, silken cloth, then wiped down the instruments laid out for the ceremony. As he reached for the ladle to distribute the hot water, a hand reached out and stopped Aoshi's. 

"Aoshi.." 

Aoshi looked up, nothing moving his impassive features, even though his body crawled at the touch. "Himura?" He felt the comforting hilt against his stomach, and a bit of him relaxed. 

"I really don't have time for this, I'm sorry, Aoshi... but Kaoru and I are only here for the morning-- we're on our way..." 

"So you're only here to turn down my invitation." 

He watched as the Battousai nodded. The rounded blue stayed on his face, but only in envy of the beauty there. He inclined his own head, silent. 

"I'm sorry... All this trouble..." 

Rather than answering he bowed his head further, not looking up, aware of the coolness gusting across his chest as his loose kimono parted further. Almost unconsciously, the spread of his knees widened, and the cloth gapped to bare that white-skinned thigh that had irritated him so greatly earlier. He heard a breath drawn in with some difficulty as his nails scratched the tatami floor impotently, seeking the sakabatoh blindly. "Well... perhaps one cup.." 

At times, his beauty was the only way to get what he wanted... 

He had been unable, thus far, to defeat the Battousai with his beloved kodachi. 

He nodded mutely and proceeded with the preparation of the tea. Himura talked pointlessly, sounding almost nervous and chattering like a woman, and the constant pressure of his eyes was on Aoshi's skin. 

"Kaoru and Misao must have a lot to talk about, so I suppose it's good of us to let them have some time together. How is Miss Misao anyways? She seems so happy that you've returned to her, but she worries, too... You really shouldn't stay all day in the temple away from her, Aoshi. She misses you so much. You do look much better since I last saw you..." 

"Do you think so?" 

"There's more color to your cheek, and your eyes aren't so cold..." There was a long pause, with only the soft rasping of the whisk within the tea. "Aoshi... have you ever noticed how Misao admires you?" 

"No." The finality of it was meant to kill a conversation. Himura Kenshin, as he was now, proceeded blind to this. 

"She only wants a nod, a smile from you..." 

"Misao doesn't need my approval. She knows better. She's only fascinated with my..." 

He almost said it. With his beauty. The vanity of that unspoken sentence made the corners of his lips turn up, and he held the filled tea bowl out to the Battousai. "... myself as her surrogate parent." He schooled his hand so that it brushed the Battousai's, ever so lightly, as he passed the lacquered container. "You know... how women are..." 

A dark tongue crossed pale lips, and the warmth of Himura's gaze dripped over the bared arch of his neck and the flat planes of his chest. "Or do you..?" 

Himura Kenshin laughed, another uncertain chuckle, but his face was written over with subconscious desire. Aoshi noted this with only the slightest arch of one fine brow, folding his hands in his lap as he watched Himura drink. The bowl was passed back to him hurriedly, and slim fingers wrapped around the leather binding of the sakabatoh again. Red hair spilled as Himura inclined his head slightly towards Aoshi. 

"Thanks Aoshi... Maybe next time I can stay longer.." 

He looked up at the Battousai through his thick lashes, head turned ever so slightly away as if in embarrassment. His hand, however, came to rest over the one wrapped around the sword. He resisted the sensation that consumed him with the urge to pull away-- there was no other means to accomplish this. Instead of withdrawing, he spoke. "So soon?" 

"Aoshi..." 

Eyes traveled up and down his body, his skin rising with gooseflesh with the knowledge of what they revealed. He resisted the itching in his palms, and pulled the fingers in his own up to his mouth, tracing his lips over them. "Himura," he breathed, hearing the music of his own voice. He stepped forward just enough so that the tormenting white skin was cloaked in teasing shadow. "Stay..." He brought his eyes up, jade meeting azure, demure yet challenging. 

He heard the hesitation when Battousai inhaled sharply, and it made the corners of his lips pull up. "I... I have to go... Kaoru..." 

But the hand under his own did not move from where their skin met. He leaned in and let lip brush lip, felt a shuddering sigh gust against his cheek as the sakabatoh clattered to the floor beside his feet. Roughened and calloused fingerpads reached greedily down the opening of his kimono to brush the smooth and knotted skin so long kept just tantalizingly out of reach. Himura's mouth broke away from his own and began to suck hungrily at a spot on his throat. He forced down the desire to retch, the desire to react with steel. Strangely, there was also the overwhelming urge to smile, as if assured of his victory. He reached down to guide the Battousai's caresses to places he wished to be touched. 

"Aoshi..." 

Need this time, in that voice that had denied him release many other times. Amusement played again on his face, held back by discipline, and he allowed the intruding hands to loosen his obi and slide his kimono down his shoulders. "Staying for another cup then?" he murmured, folding his knees beneath him and taking the Battousai down with him. He only received a breathless sigh in affirmation. How weak. How repulsive. How different from the impenetrable sword technique, that had only so easily been taken in by Aoshi's tricks once. It would be easy to retrieve his blade and cross the naked throat with a bright red slash. 

He felt cold hands move under his kimono, against the muscular curve of one milk-skinned thigh, and higher; he watched the Battousai's face as the closed eyes sought out only their own ecstasy in this action. The fingers moved deeper; pushed their way intrusively into him and made him gasp a little. Still with eyes closed Himura trailed lips against his cheek, his mouth, his neck. Anger thrilled irrationally through him; he reached for the kodachi settled against his heart before he could stop himself. His nails skimmed against the stiff hilt below the heavy silk brocade before he was able to bring his hand away, and breathed, "Look at me..." 

He felt his obi being pulled entirely free and heard the cloth-muffled thud of his sword slipping away from him. He bit his lip to resist the urge to reach for it and dug his fingertips into the slim curve of Himura's arm, pulling them both down to the tatami floor. The Battousai's eyes conducted an appraising sweep of his naked flesh even as his knee impatiently nudged Aoshi's legs apart. Lips opened slightly and a tongue darted across them, watching the Battousai watch him. His body was aroused at seeing the uncontrollable desire overflowing in the sky blue above him. "Tell me..." he whispered, letting himself be rolled over onto his stomach. There was the slithery whisper of clothing being shed and then a warm softness pressed against his back. Arms wrapped around his waist, and a hotter flesh burned against his backside, nudging against him insistently. 

"What...?" The voice was clenched and thickened with want, the intelligence bled from it like life's blood. 

"Tell me.." His reply trembled and quavered in his throat like a meek woman's. "What am I to your eyes..?" 

His words seemed to be lost though. He felt the Battousai grunt as he was penetrated deeply. He bit his lip again, pressing his chin down into his collarbone and gripping the rumpled pile of his kimono beneath him. 

"You are lost..." 

For a moment he thought it was an echo of his old dream, but then he felt the moist breath against his bared neck, and Himura's lips moving there as he spoke. A cheek laid against his shoulder and sweat slicked the contact between them. "Relax... Let me help you find yourself..." 

Aoshi blinked, barely feeling the movement of the body behind him, rocking him. He dug his fingers into the cloth and bit until blood ran down his chin. This futile joining which he himself had initiated was to heal him?? He repressed the urge to laugh; Himura was a fool. 

//Take back your strong heart! And call back your lost honor! ... The time to awaken is now..// 

But the answer was the same then as it was now. As it always would be... Himura... Himura only knew how to give his own guilt release, and never truly saw Aoshi's. He found the firm curve of his kodachi, and the events of the dream/memory roiled before his eyes in a dizzying blur. 

"Yes, Battousai," he heard himself whispering, watching his hair buffeted by the thrusting behind him. "I am lost..." 

He wrapped his hand tightly around cloth and wood and leather, and pulled it up to the flat of his abdomen. "I am cursed..." 

His eyes slid shut and he adjusted the angle of the blade. This time, he thought, he would catch them both in the heart, and death would be assured. 

"I am.. I am beautiful..." 

He braced himself as steel sliced through silk like nothing; gasped as the first pinprick of pain led to a wet trickle on his belly... 

"Ah... Ah.. you know.. Aoshi... Beauty is nothing without someone.. to .. appreciate it.." 

The blade slipped from his grasp, having inflicted nothing worse than a light gash on his skin. He sagged to his elbows, shivering as he felt the Battousai kiss his back and then thrust into him a few more times. He was barely aware of the warm gush of Himura's release with in him; once the other's hands released his hips, he slipped bonelessly atop his impotent weapon. 

Himura leaned over him, tracing patterns over the marked skin. Red hair danced a compliment to the fluttering caresses as the lips pressed to his ear, and whispered an endearment. The Battousai seemed surprised when Aoshi did not respond with any other action than a stiffening of his features. 

The words echoed in his head, a mantra of his life, of the only thing that had really ever mattered and ever would matter. A vile tasting hate rose to the back of his throat, and then died down with the futility of it. 

"Aoshi... you *are* beautiful ..." 

----  
glossary of terms *  
-------------------------  
1. chasen - tea whisk  
2. sakabatoh - reverse bladed sword that Himura Kenshin carries, a "non-killing" blade.  
3. chashaku - tea scoop  
4. kodachi - a short sword with less reach but more strength, between a wakizashi & a katana  
5. tatami - a mat made of straw put into layers and stitched, covered with rushes.  
6. obi - the wide sash used to tie a kimono  
7. yukata - a thin kimono used for sleeping.  
  
*Author note: while I'm usually annoying about not mixing Japanese and English, there are certain terms I feel there isn't adequate English translation for, so I've resorted to the Japanese term. If I'm using it improperly or have the wrong definition, I'll happily be corrected. Thanks.   
  
Mii: :tsk: you see a sunset out of the corner of your eye.. orange and violet, and you think of him, don't you, o-jii-san? :purring:   
  
[~return to fanfiction][1]  


   [1]: ../fanfic.html



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